A Dictionary of Mutual Understanding

by Jackie Copleton

  The Whore Spider

  Jorogumo: A mythical creature from the Edo period of Japan. A spider, usually an orb weaver, is given magical powers when it turns four hundred years old. The spider grows into a beautiful woman who lures men to a quiet spot by playing a Japanese lute called a biwa. She then ties up her victim with her silk threads and feasts on him. Sometimes she takes the form of a woman carrying a baby, which may be her egg sac. The word is also the name of a species of spider called Nephila clavata, or golden orb-web spiders such as the joro spider.

  The captain sent a flurry of gifts to my home after that first night. Each parcel marked a new lesson dispensed by him, a new acquiescence on my part. Mother would watch me receive them, the air rancid with her envy. Much of the jewellery and furs she pawned but she let me keep a coral necklace. The present arrived in a tortoiseshell box with a white rose. She seemed to understand its significance. I was not yet sixteen but Sakamoto had given me a full education. His friendship improved our living standards. We ate better food, sat at a better table, but Mother was hungry for more. She wanted to know when we could move to a bigger home. I need only ask the captain nicely and he would provide, she said. Mother did not understand the game. Neither of us wanted to break the illusion that this physical contract was more than some cheap transaction. Yes, I might move beyond the label of Maruyama companion if I was patient and clever but to force his patronage would be to ruin the false tale we spun: of a man and woman in love. Why would he set me up in a home when there were so many other hostesses to whet his appetite? I spent those first months trying to satiate his desire so he would need only me. I was a child but children learn fast, and Sakamoto had no hesitation in showing me where his tastes lay.

  Of course, I did not love the captain, nor like him, but I appreciated his presence in my life, what his interest, sexual and therefore financial, might mean to me over the coming years. Our companionship had mutual benefits. He was the possibility of flight made flesh. The more he sought my company, the more the other hostesses dangled tales in front of me of women who lived in grand apartments paid for by their Maruyama lovers. Some had children and were de facto wives; others had saved enough money to run their own bars or businesses. The hostesses all saw what Sakamoto held in his hand: the key to doors beyond the entertainment district. Yes, he had claimed me too young but I refused to see myself as some victim. He sought satisfaction; I sought benefaction.

  Timing was important. His companion, Kimiko, had disappeared, but vain as I was becoming, I suspected this vanishing act had little to do with me. I sensed the captain’s interest had an unspoken time limit attached. I began to worry at some point Sakamoto would tire of me, as he had Kimiko. I had to show him due respect and consideration while I warranted so much of his attention. It would be folly to risk his patronage by allowing another man into my bed. Few were held in higher regard than him, and what he had or owned, other men envied and coveted. I learned to spurn persistent admirers that nipped at his heels with a gentle diplomacy. The balance between not bruising their egos while encouraging their company was a delicate one. I could have had some fallback plan, some other man to pursue, but Sakamoto was the most likely, and the best placed, to take me from the streets of Maruyama and my mother. All I had to do was ensure he judged my companionship the finest to be found in the night bars. This is why I tolerated his hands and mouth and those other parts of him. I entertained all his predilections. I became a good actress. I faked desire to the point that I could almost believe myself in love with him. I learned to hide my yearning for something more than the captain’s attentions underneath layers of insouciance and disregard of all matters serious. I was light as a Chinese windmill butterfly carried on a summer breeze.

  Between my time spent with the captain and at the bar, Karin and I would visit the city’s bathhouses and scrub ourselves clean. We would hang our kimonos on pegs, buy small towels and soap from an assistant, and find stools next to one another. We gossiped about the clients we liked, the ones who could not hold their alcohol and those with straying hands. We created a code language. Sakamoto was dango, dumpling; Mama-san was kitsune, fox, or benevolent guardian; Akiko was mimi-kaki, ear pick, because her laughter was like a stabbing pain in our ears. Karin was from Sasebo, in the north-western tip of Kyushu. Her family had worked in the coal fields that fuelled the naval base. She had fallen in love with a metalworker and run away to Nagasaki. When I asked what had happened to him, she would shake her head mournfully. ‘I don’t know. I woke up one day and he was gone.’ Mama-san had found her loitering outside a restaurant, with no money for food, and had taken her in. As we talked and imagined the lives we could lead outside Maruyama, I poured buckets of hot water over my skin and wiped off Sakamoto’s saliva, his sweat and his semen.

  Clean once more, Karin and I took walks by the harbour before our shifts. We would stroll to the water to watch the sun set. Nestling between lamp posts and pallets of cargo, joro spiders would sit in their orb nests, which shone gold in the low, dying light. Karin hated those creatures but I loved their beauty, their stomachs marked with a flash of red, legs striped yellow and dark blue, the unashamed boldness of them compared to the ordinary brown spiders that scuttled around the ground. I admired their patience and cunning and began to understand what it took to tease the silk from hidden glands and build a home that was also a trap. I thought of the Jorogumo, a seducer impossible to resist. She was the one who feasted on men, not the other way around. Could I be her? I dressed for work in my bright kimonos and tried to see a different future. Be irresistible, patient and resolute, I told myself. Become a joro spider.

  A year passed and still the captain favoured my company but not enough to free me from the bar. When he did not visit Printemps, other clients courted my attention. One night, a literature professor who thought himself more in love with me the more brandy he drank slouched forward, his body chastised by alcohol and whispered, ‘How is my Clarissa this evening?’ I asked him what he meant and he smirked but said no more. On his next visit he brought me a book, Clarissa by Samuel Richardson. ‘Here we go, my caged princess.’ He had bookmarked one page, with a quote highlighted in pencil. ‘I am but a cipher, to give him significance, and myself pain.’ I asked the professor if the book was a love story and he laughed. ‘Depends on your point of view.’ I understood that he was mocking me. Unrequited desire had that effect. ‘Come now, Amaterasu, you must be an expert in love. You see it bloom here every night.’

  What I saw in the bar was not love. The hostesses were paid to be surrogate wives, or lovers, or even mothers, only we fed our charges with sake not breast milk. Most conversations consisted of sexual innuendo or bawdy jokes. We spent hours listening to our customers’ woes, nodding sympathetically while pouring more drinks so that they might abandon their fumbled attempts at seduction and forget what grievance had brought them to our door. I told the professor I could not begin to know what love was, although it seemed to make people more miserable than happy and was probably best avoided. He shook his head, muttering, ‘My sweet girl, you know nothing. Love is wondrous, rainbows, sunlight on a waterfall, dew on a petal, a wild horse galloping on an empty beach. What a sad little thing you are. I will show you what love is outside this dreary bar.’ I told him that sounded delightful but he should realise I was only a figment of his imagination, a night spirit conjured up by alcohol when the sun set. I did not exist in daylight. I refilled his drink and he asked if I was happy. I replied as gaily as I could, ‘Why would I not be? You are here to keep me company, to tell me about love even if I am cursed never to know it.’

  ‘You are admired, yes, but will you recognise love when it arrives? Will you allow it into your life?’ He put down his glass of brandy. ‘I am drunk. I must abandon you to these foul beasts, dear princess.’

  The professor stood up with exaggerated care and made his way to the exit, no doubt in search of other Clarissas in nearby bars. He bumped into a man as he w
alked through the door and raised his hand in apology. The professor drew my gaze to this new customer but something more than his strong features and bearing held my attention. How to describe that feeling? The bar drew still and I felt sucked into a vacuum as I watched him walk toward Mama-san. He did not arrive with wild horses or rainbows, but a companion, a little shorter and stouter than him. If I had not seen this man at that moment on that night, what would have happened? Would Sakamoto have moved me to an apartment? Would I have become another mama-san? Would I have ended up another version of my mother? I cannot say. This new customer came and scored his presence indelibly in my life. I did not know his name. Later that night he would introduce himself. Jomei Sato. His friend? Kenzo Takahashi.

  Sacred Day

  Ennichi: Old people believe that if they visit a shrine or a temple for religious services on such a holy day, they will receive special divine favours. Less religious townspeople will enjoy these days, as street pedlars set up fair stalls. The 8th of each month is observed as ennichi of Yakushi Nyorai (god of medicine), the 18th as that of Kannon (goddess of mercy), the 24th as that of Jizo (guardian of children), and the 28th as that of Fudo (god of non-movement).

  This was their first visit; the signs were easy enough to spot. They tried to act nonchalantly but still hovered by the main door. One scanned the room and the other could only look at his shoes. Mama-san hid her surprise when I signalled that I would attend to them. Karin joined me and we greeted the two men and led them to one of the less requested tables near the kitchen. Until we could ascertain the spending power of a new customer, the rule was to reserve the better tables for the men who could afford the best sake. The men looked rich enough but hostesses knew more than most that this was not an indication of wealth. We brought them drinks and learned their names and occupations. They were both recent graduates; Kenzo Takahashi was a nautical engineer and Jomei Sato had studied medicine. Karin talked with Takahashi and I attended Sato. I was still only sixteen but practised enough in conversation to talk to most clients with a light assurance. Some of the older, more educated, sombre men were harder to put at ease but I had not been intimidated by a customer for a long while. Sato was different. I had never felt an attraction to any of the men that came through the doors. Desire was an unsettling new sensation.

  I poured him a drink. ‘Medicine is a fine profession. Your family must be proud.’

  He smiled mischievously. ‘And your family must be proud of you too?’

  I did not like his tone but I was not paid to take offence. ‘This is your first time here. Are you new to the delights of Maruyama?’

  ‘No.’ He clinked glasses with his friend. ‘But this is Kenzo’s first visit. See, Kenzo, I told you, did I not?’ His companion’s cheeks flushed and he gave Karin a shy glance. ‘So, ladies, I promised my friend a fine time, drink and beautiful women and the best shabu-shabu in town. When you are done here, you must join us. Listening to all these men droning on must work up an appetite.’

  I laughed, out of habit. ‘That is a generous offer, but I’m afraid we will be here long after you are asleep.’

  Sato gave me another impish look. ‘Is there room in your bed for two?’

  I pretended to look at a watch. ‘Most customers wait at least ten minutes before asking that question.’

  He laughed now. ‘I apologise for my lack of originality.’

  I began to refill his drink when Akiko came up to our table and leaned down to whisper in my ear. I looked to the table at the back. The captain had arrived and requested my attendance. I stood up from the stool so that she could take my place.

  ‘Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure. I hope to see you back here again. I’m afraid I must leave you for the moment.’

  They both bowed and as I turned to leave Sato took hold of my hand, pressed it to his lips. ‘It really has been a delight. We will eat shabu-shabu, I am sure, one day.’

  I walked across the bar to sit with Sakamoto. The captain touched my coral necklace. ‘I don’t like you talking to other men.’

  ‘Tetsu, it’s my job.’ I lit a cigarette for him. ‘How else am I to pay my bills? Besides, those men are boys.’

  ‘I don’t like how they look at you.’ He moved his hand under the table and lifted the hem of my kimono, pushed his way between my legs. I tapped the end of his nose with my finger, chiding. ‘Naughty, Tetsu. Not here.’

  ‘Here.’ The captain and I were in the corner but I feared if I looked up over the bar I would see Sato watching me, and this thought caused me shame. He kissed the side of my neck and, frustrated by the restrictions of the kimono, moved his hand away. ‘Let’s have Mika join our table tonight.’

  I sighed. ‘Must we? I dislike her so.’

  ‘She’s not so bad. You have nothing to be jealous about. Besides, am I not good to you?’

  Mika came to our table, all giggles and flushed cheeks and wet lips, so eager to please, like a dog freed from the leash. When the captain was not looking she shot me an expression of satisfaction. She could see, everyone could: the captain’s affections were on the move. An hour or so passed before Sato and Kenzo stood up and made their way to the exit. The young doctor was too handsome for this meat hall. He had no need to sit among hostesses feeding him false compliments. His looks alone could have tempted any one of them into breaking Mama-san’s rules about entertaining clients outside the bar. Such a pity he was not older, or wealthier, or he would have been a perfect substitute for the captain. Sato bowed to Mama-san and as he was about to leave he glanced back, just for a moment, and smiled. The captain did not see our silent exchange but Mika did. I felt a flare of alarm and exhilaration, as if dipped in a freezing cold pool while the sun shone overhead. I felt alive, and just as quickly as the elation rose, I was left back in the shadows of Printemps, the high followed by a crashing low.

  Later that night, long after Sakamoto and I had left the bar and found a room at a nearby inn, I lay next to the captain. I watched him snore and scratch his folds and dimples, a contented pig in a poke. I thought more on the professor’s question. Would I recognise love when it arrived? Up until this evening I had not dared imagine how it might feel. My head, once so full of ways to keep my dango happy, became overrun with the image of Jomei: that mole, that mouth, that silly promise of shabu-shabu anywhere outside Printemps. Was this love? Or just desire? It did not matter. Sato was too young, too unknown, too unpredictable to risk my future on him.

  High Spirits

  Iki: An aesthetic and moral ideal developed by urban commoners in the late Edo period (1603–1867). This idealises not only an urbane, chic or bourgeois beauty but also the sophisticated life of a person who enjoys sensual pleasure. A lady possessing iki is highly spirited and always willing to make sacrifices for her lover.

  A month later I saw him again. Monsoon showers had kept most of the customers away but as the rain finally subsided the door clattered open and his face appeared from beneath a roll of dripping newspaper. He peered across the empty tables and I felt as if he had shot a flare of light over the bar. He smiled and walked up to me. ‘Your captain is not here?’

  Sitting alone, I must have looked like a market trader waiting for a sale. ‘He’s not my captain, but I am expecting him.’

  He gestured at the seat beside me. ‘May I keep you company until he arrives?’

  ‘Of course. It would be a pleasure.’ What else could I say? And the truth was easy.

  He sat down next to me, too close, but I did not move away. I lit a match and he leaned forward with a cigarette in his mouth. He surveyed the room as he smoked.

  ‘You live a curious life, Amaterasu.’

  I smiled. ‘I do? How so?’

  ‘All these beautiful young women stuck here with these old men. What a waste.’

  I shook my head in remonstrance. ‘Our customers are attentive and generous. We are lucky to spend time with such educated,
charming gentlemen.’

  He nodded, maybe in agreement. ‘I had not thought of it that way.’ He looked at my coral necklace. ‘And that Kempeitai officer is the finest of companions, I imagine?’

  Was he trying to embarrass me? I lit a cigarette to steady my nerves, breathed in deep to settle my stomach. What to say of Sakamoto? I saw myself naked, the captain pouring sake laced with gold leaf over my body until my nipples were yellow beads shining in the room. I felt him lick me clean and tell me I was his chrysanthemum as he poured the chilled liquid down my spine and eased my body open. What to say of that? ‘The captain and I are friends, nothing more.’

  ‘And is that what you want, Amaterasu, only to be his friend?’

  What a casual and cruel remark. How little he knew of the choices available to me. ‘You cannot judge what you do not understand.’

  He considered this and then responded: ‘I’ve lived a privileged life, I know. But I’m not immune to how we might be forced to do things we would rather not.’

  I hated that my laughter sounded bitter. ‘Money makes such compassionate judges of us.’

  ‘Forgive me, Amaterasu. I may be young but I do realise this is a job for you, nothing more. How you must tire of our company while you indulge our poor jokes and tickle our fragile egos.’ He picked a stray shred of tobacco from his lip and I found myself wondering again what it would be like to kiss that mouth. ‘If you get the opportunity, will you leave all this eventually?’